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I have two first dates this week, on my only nights off. I don’t really know much about either, perhaps that is what I have resorted to now. I know that I found them “interesting” enough to contact them, but it’s a mental block I can’t get past. I’m not retaining details about them. My heart doesn’t want to.

Last week, I went on one first date. This gentleman, the Legal Design Guy, doesn’t know my ex like I thought he might (thankfully), he was getting into the music school as Type Geek was leaving. Also, it turns out he knows a circle of people who I know, which also don’t know Type Geek, so that explains it. So, we had oysters, we had drinks, we had pâté and confit and more drinks. Conversation was fine, but it felt more friend than anything. There is something slightly smarmy that I can’t get past, that I don’t find sexy. I can’t pin point it exactly, but it’s there.

Remember my Jewish Sex God from the very beginning? The one who ushered me into the folds? Well, we were having a conversation the other night, our friendship never really being the same since my trip to visit him that weekend. In the course of the dialogue he mentions that we had no sexual connection and proceeded to tell me why. Now, it’s fine that he didn’t feel a connection to me, but it isn’t fine that he decided to tell me that my being nervous at the reality of having sex with a well endowed man after 12 years of non penetrative lesbian sex translated into being a horrible lay who he felt ashamed to touch. WHAT? Yeah, so, he said that I was largely unresponsive, behaving as a victim of sexual abuse does, because I didn’t make much noise, because I didn’t show him how much I was enjoying sex with him. That I was too inside myself and didn’t give much to my partner, that he felt awful continuing to touch me because he felt that I must have been abused because I seemed to be in another place. Ok, once again, WHAT? Again, 12 years…non penetrative lesbian… flies to Seattle to have weekend sex romp with well endowed male friend… maybe, just MAYBE, I was nervous and shy and insecure about the entire thing?! What a dick, and I am NOT talking about his dick. I felt shitty afterwards, so I ended up emailing Type Geek for his take on my sexual style and he confirmed that Seattle is a DICK, and that I should NEVER give another thought to it, because I was obviously nervous and that he had zero concerns with my style. Thank you Type Geek. Grrr, Seattle. Seattle had no idea why I was angry, which at first I wasn’t. After I thought about it though, that is when I started to get angry, and offended.

So, yeah, Type Geek, we have texted. I apologized to him for not being able to pretend I don’t care and just cut ties. I’m not done with him. I can’t shake that a huge part of me believes that our story hasn’t ended yet. It’s just not our time. But, I want it to be. I know I can’t rush it, but I want to. I want the life with him that I know we can have, but he doesn’t have enough balls yet to have faith, to let go, to grasp something unknown, rather than his own fear. He needs time, he needs some self work, and I just need to live my life, which includes dating other people, while he does his work. Someday I will try again.

If you all think I am foolish, honestly, fuck you. I’m not on this journey for any of you, for how you would do it. It isn’t a choose your own adventure, and you don’t have the right to be angry at the roads I choose to take, because they are different from the paths and methods you would. This is MY story, and when I am laying in my final hours, I owe explanations to only my heart and the hearts of those I have chosen to embrace into my own.  I thank you all for reading, for getting involved and attached and relating, but in the end, this story is uniquely my own and I have no regrets about how I am living it and loving through it, even if that means I am just filling the spaces between Type Geek. Even if that means I am frustrating the hell out of my readers.

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It’s funny, meeting someone in person whom you have been virtual friends with for over a year. Nearly 13 months of sexual tension and in person, we are comfortable pals, yet beyond that, perhaps not much else. Internet Skype boy was having a weekend of bad reactions to some new migraine meds which ironically were causing low drive issues. The irony does not sneak past me here. I wanted a weekend of unbridled carefree fucking after 11 months of loving someone who had low sex drive issues and low interest issues. Nonetheless, we did have sex on Friday night, but the first time you fuck anyone is odd, grooves not found, rhythms not synced, and so I extended my trip one more night, to see whether things could line up more.

In between my first and last night… Parisian Macarons from BisousCiao. in flavors like Sour Cherry, Champagne Cocktails from Bubble Lounge and strolls through the Bowery. Apple Cider from The Union Square Greenmarket, naps on $7,000 couches at The Conran Shop, viewings of Time Bandits, and jokes about how I have lost my NYC street cred after ten years away.

So, how was the sex, second go around? It’s different. It’s not Type Geek. I was detached, yet forced to be present because of the sensation of fucking someone much larger than your previous partner. We fucked, it was fine. It was the punctuation, the ending to my one-sided relationship with a man I loved who couldn’t give anything except the occasional dinner, concert or overnight snuggle. Until there was sex with someone else, there was always just going to be Type Geek in my rearview mirror. After Skype boy and I fucked, after he washed up and went to bed, I laid there. The only night I was unable to relax and sleep. I missed Type Geek, even the small amount that I had him, the small amount that snuck through without him seeing it cozy up to me. I couldn’t help but wonder, has he thought of me at all since he saw me last. Did he ever miss me or was I unable to imprint myself even that much on him. I know it isn’t a reflection on me, it is merely a reflection on him and his bigger deeper issues, but nonetheless, I feel the loss and miss the him that I knew in those dark quiet hours between dusk and dawn.

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only the Jew was smart enough to see what was around him and duck, where as the Italian was too focused on himself to realize what hit him across the head.

This weekend could have been a wonderfully relaxing and tender weekend for two people who have had a challenging year, a way to unwind and reconnect. Instead, I’m heading down to NYC for two nights and two days of who knows what with Internet Skype guy. Sex could happen. Sex probably should happen, I deserve that from the universe. Actually, I deserve a full body massage and really good oral sex, then the best 8 hours of sleep ever. That is what I need.

Since my last post, Type Geek has come out with a new plan… utter disrespectful douche. If you insult her character she will no longer come… that is his theory. Although his other theory… if you ignore her, she will no longer cum, was pretty effective as well. I don’t want to get into what he said, but it sent me into such a fit of anger and how dare you’s that I almost walked the three miles to his house and slapped him across the face. In the end, he still wasn’t successful in making me hate him, just succesful in making me feel sorry for him. It’s quite sad at this point, his complete inability to connect to another human. I hope that someday he gets over what his ex did to him and feels more secure in who he is. For his own sake.

So, the chapter is ended. Is the book of Type Geek finished? Life is long, we shall never know. Perhaps I will reconnect in 20 years at an auction of mid century modern furniture… perhaps we are meant to be old together, but first, we need to grow old separately. Perhaps he just needs to grow first.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… There is Bi-Coastal Foodie who is shuttling between Seattle and NYC, a foodie who actually admitted that he thinks I might be the better cook. (umm, of course) There was a photographer that lasted a few days, only to run at me wearing a giant red flag after I didn’t text him by a certain time about a potential cocktail. Key word…. potential, not, scheduled. Finally, there was a gentleman, Shellfish Guy who had hit on me months ago and I had told, that I wasn’t in the place because I was seeing someone else. He has continued to pursue me and I figure, hell, why not. So, that is where I am currently at.

This time around, how will I approach things differently? I’m not sure. This time it is a whole new game. I’m no longer wondering if it is possible for me to connect emotionally to a man, I obviously did. Now, maybe my lesson is that if you can’t be with the one you love, find another, then love the one you’re with. It might not be the same soul wrenching, powerful stuff that makes you JUST KNOW. But, maybe it can still be pretty good.

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Apparently, when I am nervous, my lower lip and chin quiver slightly. This is what Type Geek told me during our almost break up. I later texted my hot ex girl friend, the screenwriter, and asked her and she confirmed. How have I not known this for 35 years? Type Geek told me not to join the CIA, I responded that it’s lucky for me than that I am into cooking instead of espionage.

So, yes, I did say almost break up. He’s been driving me nuts. NUTS. The comments, the card, the accolades I recently bestowed upon him had gone un discussed and avoided and I just couldn’t handle it anymore. So, I forced a meeting with the need to pick up my video camera that had been living at his place. My friend needed it desperately for something, or that was how the story went. I started the frustration via text Saturday morning. By Saturday afternoon, we were essentially over. He just couldn’t offer anything and didn’t want to be responsable for hurting me. Therefore, any compromise was futile. I cried a lot. I drank a few overly sweet martini like cocktails and had wasabi rushes with my Foreigner. I’ve known him over a year now, odd. Odd also that he sent me on this crazy trip. I digress.

Type Geek and I agreed to meet at 3:30. I got there at 3:35. He was late and I sat my ass on the stoop freezing in the mid thirties weather. I harumphed and texted my friends, cursing that he couldn’t be there on time! He arrived 15 minutes late. I was awkward but cordial. Cold but tried to not act too chilly. I didn’t know what I was walking into. We sat at the dining table and made chit-chat for about 15 or 20 minutes before we both ceased to talk. I looked away, at the floor, my boots, the edge of the table, but not at him. I then said, “hmm, awkward silence there.” He responded that there wasn’t an awkward silence, to which I said that there was, on my end. That there is so much in the ether that needs to be discussed, so much that I don’t understand, pages we have skipped past and not addressed, until now, when it has become awkward because we are in two places and we need to bridge them or walk away, because the distance between is too stark, too cavernous and far too frightening to traverse. He asked what I wanted to say, I said that I felt I have said too much lately but that he has said so little. So he agreed to start. Super uber lenghty hmmm pause later, I asked if he needed a prompt. He said that would be helpful, as he didn’t know where to start.

I told him that yes, I am in love with him and yes, in an ideal scenario (i.e. one in which it is what he wants) I would love to be his girlfriend, BUT that my wants and my needs are different. My needs are to know three things. He nodded for me to go on.

  1. Do you want to continue to see me?
  • Response: Yes, of course.

      2.   Are you sleeping with anyone else?

  • Response: No, not since our first date, no one but you.

       3.  Can you agree to commit to a minimum of 2 actual scheduled dates a month, that you don’t cancel and that to others, you will say NO, if you are not sure or feel flakey about ability to commit to something, rather than saying yes and then disappointing me later.

  • Response: Yes, this is doable.

Then I had to argue for a half hour over whether he has the power card, which he doesn’t want. I say he doesn’t and that I am in control of whether he breaks my heart or not. I said, you may hurt my feelings, however, only I allow the decision to suffer to that degree. I am a big girl and I can handle being in love with someone who isn’t in love with me in return. Do you care about me, enjoy my company, and want to spend your spare time with me? Are you sexually attracted to me and not interested in anyone else or interested in pursuing anyone else? Ok. His argument is that every action he takes affects me. I responded that whether it is a sunny day or cloudy day affects me. Whether the train is late or on time. Whether a stranger says hello or curses at me for accidentally bumping into them. The world IS cause and effect. However HE does not hold as much power as he would like to think. He is only a man and I have the power to walk away if it isn’t working for me anymore. When it isn’t working for me anymore, I will use my power to leave. So, we agreed to disagree on this point. He thinks he has power. i say he doesn’t have the power he thinks he has.

So, what is his damage? Well, the same damage we all have. A relationship with a woman who strung him up for years, who is still meandering about and pestering him (not for any romantic reasons, just to be pestery), a new job and new role at new job that is super demanding and stressful, a family life in crazy overdrive for the last 6 months, and the regular fears of jumping into a new relationship and what that may mean. I get it. I know where he is. I was there for 4 years. Well, I was in a similar place. I didn’t date for 4 years. I had no sex drive. I proclaimed myself celibate, asexual even. I started a business and bought a condo, I lived like a hermit and shriveled up, hid away until I watched a lot of my friends give up reaching out. I wasn’t going to be ready to open the door to possibilities again, until I was ready. I didn’t know how it happened. I don’t remember the exact moment. I just realized one day that I saw the sun and I was, metaphorically speaking ( since I did go outside everyday ), standing outside with an open door behind me. It happened at its own pace.  

Now, where does this leave us? This leaves us with him kissing me as I stood against the dining table. With him agreeing that booty calls are acceptable ( I complained that , sometimes, I just want to get laid and go home because I have things to do, just like he does. So, I don’t always need to sleep over afterwards. I can go home after a date and sex. That way, we can wake up at our respective homes and start our days without the trappings of two people bumping into each other at 8 am). With us being us, but better, because we are now on the same page. I fessed up about THIS and the novel. No, he doesn’t have the url, he has not read it. I fessed up about the Cooper Fienes and how I was fucking both of them at first and how I kept him at arm’s length because I was seeing the other guy. Type Geek commented that perhaps that was best, until I said that no, I was bored then. I found him to be less than interesting and I wasn’t thrilled to hang out with him, until I stopped seeing Cooper Fienes and decided to give Type Geek a fair chance, to get to know him. Things weren’t best because I didn’t really like him then. Now, however, because I care about him and know him and his neurosis, I am not bored, I am engaged and enthralled and I adore him, which makes it worthwhile for me. He would not have lasted in my life behaving as he has, if I wasn’t in love with him and willing to sort out what the hell his brain has going on. So, to me, I feel like we are a couple, without the couple. We are sexually exclusive. We like each other, albeit I am in love with him and he finds me worthy and adorable and super cute, but isn’t ready for love. We enjoy spending time together and have tons of things in common. Do I need the title? No. Do I need to meet the family? No. I understand why he can’t include me in that equation now. I get it. Does spending the holidays alone SUCK? Yup. In the grand scheme of things though, I would rather have this with someone I adore with all my heart, than have the “traditional” all the trimmings relationship that lacks the one core ingredient… Type Geek.  What we ARE is more important than what we NAME it.

 After I got home I sat and thought over the crazy year and decided to blasted my Jewish Sex God a note commemorating our anniversary of last year’s rendezvous and thanking him for being that fine ambassador to all men everywhere. Then I sat down to write this post as I baked spicy stuff shells and drank Tempranillo.

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There is this great website called Overheard Everywhere , which has some of the most brilliant overheard comments of all time posted by the individuals whose ears were lucky enough to be close at the time. This is one of my favorites,  “Hipster girl: He eats pork, but he won’t eat pussy. He’s a really bad Jew.” If I had overheard that, I would have spit out whatever beverage or food I was consuming at that moment in an abrupt burst of hysterical laughter. We all know my love of the Jew. The Jewish cock is a thing of wonder and beauty. Although, I must say, a lot can be said about an uncut cock as well. Before I met Type Geek, I had zero experience with an uncut penis. I hadn’t ever seen one in person, only photos. My limited experience with cock from my teens and early twenties presented the average “normal” penis to me, nothing exciting. Certainly no Jews and no uncut boys.

Regardless of all of that, I do have one issue with the comment. How can you NOT eat pussy if you fuck it? Really?! For some of us ladies, that is the ONLY way we really get off. That is one issue with lesbians that never occurred. Lesbians love to eat pussy. I think there is an unwritten law in the Society of Lesbians book of by-laws that states, “she who eat not of pussy, not get own pussy eaten in return.”  Alright, maybe it was Confucius or Buddha. Maybe it was just the first lesbian I met at 17 who wanted to fuck me so badly, she checked out the Lesbian Joy of Sex from her college library and offered to lend it to me. She was stocky, with a mohawk, furry legs, ripped fishnets and combat boots AND a die-hard anti-male feminist. Now, I know that NOT all feminists are anti-male. SHE just happened to be. She was also a writer, a bad one, and wrote scathing tales of those that crossed her path. She never changed their names because, as she said, “no names have been changed, because no one is innocent.” Needless to say, she was intense in all the WRONG ways and no, I never had sex with her. There is probably a story out there somewhere about it.

 

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Seriously though, I get chatted up by someone who asks how I am doing, someone whom I have never met because he lives in another state and refuses to put pictures of himself on his profile. Let me first say this, if you are doing internet dating, get over yourself and include some fucking photos. If I won’t buy produce I can’t fondle first, I won’t date you if I can’t see you first. If you have an issue with that, join a dating site for the blind!

Now, as I was saying… he asked how I have been, I explained that I had just been dropped by someone who I was casually seeing who, a couple weeks prior, I was realizing that perhaps I was beginning to fall in love with, however, I didn’t say the “L” word to this person, I merely stated that I was realizing that I cared a bit more than casual. This man then wanted to bad mouth my Spaniard. Ok, step back. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was respectful, he was honest, he was apologetic and he cares about me very much, which is why he wasn’t a dick, plus he is just a genuinely AWESOME person. Cynics back off, these people exist, perhaps only in Spain, but they do exist.

I informed this guy on OkCupid that I intended to be friends with Cooper Fiennes and he felt that was impossible. I inquired as to why and he felt that you can’t be intimate with someone and then be friends. He continued by saying that C.F. would gush about his new love to me, I replied that he isn’t like that and that he was accepting and understanding as I set out my requests, which were that I have no contact with C.F. and the girl in question when they are together, or her in general, at least for the mean time, that it would be too difficult for me as I needed time to put my emotions at rest and heal the wound. That because she had something I cherished, him, I just needed a buffer time. OkC DBag then says, quite matter of factly, that I like CF way too much to be friends. If I need time to rest any emotions, it’s too much. Who is this guy? Any REAL connection creates intense feelings, which, like boiling water, will need time to cool once removed from the heat source. I’m still in that weird barely simmering point, after all, we were in a rolling boil weeks ago fucking in a rental car on the waterfront. My knee wound hasn’t healed yet, why should my heart in two days?! Jesus Christ Dbag. Anyway, my response was, I’m not an obsessed stalker, I care about him and think he’s an amazing person, I would like to remain friends with him after he moves back to Spain. I continued on that he wasn’t a dick the way he ended things and that regardless, things were going to end in January, except they would have ended on a much more fun, far more sexually charged woo hoo way, rather than my tears because he started to fall in love with his co-worker. OkC then said the thing that made me sign out immediately… “See, you are just too into him, that’s why you are trying to rationalize it all to me.” Umm, hey DBag, no, I was answering your questions. I then told him I was ending the conversation because he had his own definite opinions and I wasn’t going to have a  pointless debate with him over an intense and wonderful emotional connection I have and had with an intense and wonderful man. He tried to have a response, however my account was signing out as his screen popped up. Sayonara DBag. It’s been two fucking days since I had someone I cared about telling me that they needed to stop seeing me because they are falling in love with their friend. Umm, I’m not hanging out at coffee shops near his work for fucks sake. Armchair relationship guru’s who are cynics AND single… should take a look in the mirror before making recommendations or analysis of the health or normality of another individual’s interpersonal relationships .

Tips for life….

  1. Don’t get your hair cut/ colored by someone who has bad hair.
  2. If your nutritionist/dietician is overweight… get a new one.
  3. If all of your architect friends tell you to buy in an up and coming neighborhood…don’t , UNLESS they are actually buying too.
  4. If you can’t pronounce the science experiment, a.k.a ingredients , in what you want to drink or eat…  don’t put it in your mouth.
  5. If your shrink sees a shrink, who sees a shrink… get the number for the shrink’s shrink’s shrink, Don’t go to the one that is completely FUCKED.
  6. Don’t date a shrink…for so many reasons
  7. Don’t take dating and love advice from cynical, misanthropic, perpetually single, afraid to expose themselves and be vulnerable (no photo?!!), armchair DBags.
  8. Don’t take dating advice from me… I’m a lesbian who started dating men…I know that women are crazy (we are) and men are daft (you are). I know not much else. Oh wait…. umm… the meaning of life consists of stockings, jewish cock, good music and great food!

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An update on the day… Sunday July 10, 2010.

Spain wins first World Cup EVER!

Cooper Fiennes sobs from joy, then sadness. Being in the United States, so far from friends, family and countrymen was amplified post win. Then, once the floodgates opened, it was apparent that he was also crying over the loss of his marriage and all of the change in his life. I believe he is lonely, in a way that friends aren’t able to reach into and fill at the moment. It was immensely endearing to se him so vulnerable. All I wanted to do was hold him, but we were at his colleague’s house. The woman whom the strange dynamic exists.

A question in my mind, since I had heard that Spanish men weren’t particularly blessed in physical endowment, however he is, was answered. It was a sideline conversation and when Cooper Fiennes mentioned that his great-grandmother was Sephardic Jew… it clicked. Once again, Hung Like a Jew is true. Of course, the hottie with the beautiful cock turns out to have some Jewish running through the most important veins of his body. I should have known that there was a reasonable explanation for it, besides meer blessed fluke.

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